All the way.

As it left a drear English January, lukewarm tea and kitchen towel sky, the journey went from barely controlled skim along steely French rails to careening skid as frosted ice blue Alps launched it over brand new born Italy glittering in the sunlight of a hundred thousand walnut sized oranges. A swallow dive into the glare in the Bay of Naples, sinking into blue-green with the weight of years of old-new, must float to break an oiled sky punctured by neon jazz and a spatter of dark eyes. The destroyer lady drives out and draws on and the ants of the crumbling palazzos set pyres of yesterdays and graffiti the morning - dawn of the instant and no more tomorrow.